


Day 5: Fancy

by mrs_d



Series: Do What I Wantober 2020 [5]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen, Language May Offend, Pre-Canon, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26856949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: The Devil didn’t go down to Georgia — not if he could help it, anyway — but he sure loved New Orleans. The city at the turn of the 20th century had everything he wanted: gambling, liquor, sex, and some of the best music this side of Heaven.
Series: Do What I Wantober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947496
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	Day 5: Fancy

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I chose not to warn.

The Devil didn’t go down to Georgia — not if he could help it, anyway — but he sure loved New Orleans. The city at the turn of the 20th century had everything he wanted: gambling, liquor, sex, and some of the best music this side of Heaven. 

He strolled the noisy streets, tipping his hat to the ladies he passed, all while keeping an eye and ear out for any sign of Amenadiel. But it soon became apparent that his big brother was sleeping on the job. Lucifer won eight hands of poker at one bar, made a dozen deals at another, and bought out a brothel for the night, all without interruption. 

As the morning sun started to creep across his chosen den of sin, he snuck away from the tangled limbs of his lovers. He left a handful of silver dollars on the table in thanks, and headed out to the street, hoping his luck would hold a little longer, and he could enjoy some more sweet treats before being dragged back to Hell. 

A woman’s voice, raised in frustration and anger, caught his attention. “That is not the price we agreed to,” she was saying — or, yelling, rather, at a closed door that read _Bartleby Sewing._ “We had an agreement, Bartleby, you gave me your word!”

From the other side of the door came a muffled reply, and, while Lucifer was certainly no gentleman, he found himself bristling on the woman’s behalf as he walked by. 

She spared him a glance, then did a double take, the way so many women — and not a small number of men — did. Lucifer watched her eyes take in the lines of his suit, the fine gold chain of his pocketwatch, his freshly shined shoes. A hunger seemed to fill her expression, but it wasn’t one he was used to. This woman was drawn to him for purely material reasons, which was novel enough that he changed direction and went right to her. 

“Good morning, sir,” she greeted him. Her green eyes dropped as he came near, and Lucifer could practically feel the heat rising her from her cheeks. 

Although — he sniffed surreptitiously — it wasn’t just embarrassment. To his sensitive nose, the woman reeked of sick and burned with fever. He looked at her again and noticed her awkward posture, her stained clothing, the lumpy pouch of her abdomen under her too-large dress. She’d given birth recently, and it had not gone well; this woman was dying. 

“Good morning,” he replied, ignoring the stench of her mortality. “Is something wrong, my dear?” 

_Besides the obvious,_ he added silently.

“Only that Mr. Bartleby promised me a dress at a certain price, and now he’s changed his mind. The liar,” she practically shouted at the closed door. 

“Oh, I do detest a liar,” Lucifer sympathized. “Especially one willing to exploit a poor woman such as yourself.”

She blushed again and turned back. He caught and held her gaze easily. 

“Tell me,” he said. “Why do you need this dress? What do you desire?”

“I want my eldest daughter to survive,” the woman answered immediately. “No matter the cost.”

“Well, if it’s money you’re after, I’m sure we can work something out,” said Lucifer, reaching into his pocket.

“That’s not what I meant,” the woman said. She stopped him with a sweaty hand on his wrist. “I just need the dress, sir. If you can convince Mr. Bartleby to sell it at the agreed-upon price, I— well, I’ll find a way to repay you.”

Lucifer’s interest was piqued, as ever, by the offer of a favor. “I can be very persuasive,” he conceded, “but be warned. I don’t take deals lightly.”

“Nor do I,” she replied, her head held high. “I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t desperate.”

“You are, aren’t you?” he marvelled. Humanity never ceased to surprise him. “Very well, Miss...?”

“Nell,” she replied. She shook the hand he offered her. “And you are?”

“Lucifer,” he said. “Morningstar.”

Nell’s eyes went wide, but she nodded slowly, and Lucifer suppressed his mild disappointment. No one ran screaming at his name in these supposedly enlightened times; no one actually believed him anymore.

“We have a deal, Miss Nell,” he told her, then he strode forward and calmly kicked down Mr. Bartleby’s door.

Nell gasped behind him, and Bartleby came running out from behind the counter with a shotgun clutched in both hands. Lucifer didn’t pause, walking right up to him with a grin.

“Hello there,” he said.

Bartleby slowly lowered the weapon, clearly confused by this show of politeness. “What do you want?” he asked. 

“Well,” Lucifer began, sliding a hand into his pocket. “I believe you gave this woman your word, and I’m here to make sure you keep it. You will sell Miss Nell the dress you promised her,” he emphasized, when Bartleby only stared. “And at the price you agreed upon.”

Bartleby seemed to come out of his trance. His grip on the gun tightened again. “Or what?”

Lucifer chose not to answer. He was quite looking forward to getting shot — these new-fangled muskets shot smaller projectiles, which actually tickled.

“Is it a question of money?” he asked Bartleby instead. “You humans and your money, I tell you—”

“It’s a question of what she’s gonna do with it,” Bartleby answered, sending a glare over Lucifer’s shoulder, to where Nell had just entered the store. “I’m not gonna help you turn your daughter into a whore,” he spat at her, red-faced and furious.

Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he glanced over his shoulder. Nell’s cheeks were flushed, but she held his eye, unashamed. Lucifer felt almost impressed. Clearly, she was made of sterner stuff than others — especially Bartleby — might think.

“I am a good Christian man,” Bartleby went on. “A family man. And I want no part of her life of sin. Let the Devil take her, for all I care. My conscience is clear.”

Lucifer’s grin stretched across his face at the mention of himself. “Is that so?” he said. “Because I’ve gotten to know a lot of good Christian men over the years, and let me tell you: there’s always something. Some splinter of shame, of guilt, that sends you down to me when your time on Earth is done.”

Bartleby’s face had gone ashen. “What do you— who are you?”

“Lucifer,” he said again. “Some call me the Morning Star, but if I had to choose, I’m rather fond of Old Scratch.”

“No,” Bartleby said softly, and, oh, his fear was gratifying.

“Yes.” Lucifer leaned in closer, pressing his advantage. “If you walk away now, breaking your word to his poor, sick woman, her blood — and her children’s blood — will be on your hands. And when we see each other again, I’ll remember that I warned you. The Devil never forgets a face, my dear.”

“Fine,” Bartleby relented finally. He put the gun down with shaking hands. “Fine, she can have the dress. I— I’ll just go get it.”

“Lovely,” said Lucifer, stepping back with a pleasant smile. He turned to Nell. “Told you I was persuasive.”

She nodded, looking shaken for the first time. 

While he waited for the dress, a shiny locket draped over one of the busts caught Lucifer’s eye. _To thine own self be true,_ it read. 

Lucifer held it up when Bartleby re-entered the room. “How much for this?” he asked. 

But Bartleby was still quivering and didn’t answer, so Lucifer left three silver coins on the counter and took the necklace, then turned and left with Nell.

When they reached the street, he handed her the dress. It was gorgeous — red with rich velvet trim. She smiled at him sadly over the expensive fabric in her hands when he fastened the locket around her neck. 

“I promised you repayment,” she said. “So, in return, I can offer you... my daughter. She will please you, if you so desire.”

Lucifer frowned. It was far from the first time that someone had made such an offer, but he still found it distasteful.

“She’s eighteen. Unspoiled,” Nell added, when he didn’t speak. “And I saw you coming out of May Baily’s place just now, so clearly you know what goes on there. What I’m sending her into. But you seem... I think she’d enjoy it, with you. Maybe she could learn—” 

“No,” Lucifer interrupted at last. Nell’s eyes fell to the dusty ground at her feet. 

“You must think I’m a monster,” she said softly. “Setting her up to be a whore like this.”

“Hardly,” Lucifer replied. “Trust me, I know monsters.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I imagine I’ll be meeting some of them soon.”

Lucifer couldn’t speak to that, of course. “You are trying to give your daughter a choice,” he said instead. “Such as it is. For me to take her now, without her agreement, would be to take that choice away. I will not do this.”

“Then how will I repay you?” Nell asked, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ve just given every penny I have to Bartleby, and I know I won’t live long enough to earn even half of what I owe you.”

Lucifer knew that, too, and he knew he didn’t have much time, either. Already, he could hear, or imagined he could hear, the flap of Amenadiel’s wings in the distance. He glanced back at the dressmaker’s shop thoughtfully — remembering Bartleby’s self-righteousness, his judgement, how certain he was that Nell would rot in Hell while he would not — and made a decision.

“In return for what I’ve done for you today,” he said, “all I ask is that you feel no shame. Whenever you think you ought to, when others judge you, or tell you you’ve made the wrong decision, I want you to remember that you’ve done the best you can, given the circumstances, and that’s all that anyone can expect of you.”

Nell’s eyes spilled over. Lucifer could definitely hear wings in the distance now. He glanced up at the clear blue sky in annoyance. “Terrible timing as always, brother,” he muttered. 

Nell looked up, her face tracked with tears. “What?” 

“Nothing.” Lucifer placed his hands on her shoulders. _Dad,_ but she did smell awful. She really wasn’t long for this world. “You’ve given your daughter a choice,” he said again. “You’ve no reason to feel guilty, and no reason to find yourself in my kingdom.”

Nell’s eyes went wide. She really did believe him now. 

“What is your daughter’s name?” Lucifer asked, to distract her. He was going to disappear soon, when Amenadiel slowed time, and for reasons he didn’t fully understand, he wanted her to be thinking pleasant thoughts when that happened. 

“Francis,” Nell replied. “But I call her Fancy.”

Just then, time slowed to a crawl, freezing the faint smile on her lips. Lucifer stepped back from her and sighed.

“Didn’t expect to find you with so many clothes on, Luci,” said Amenadiel, stepping into view. “And here in New Orleans, no less.”

“Yes, well, what can I say, brother?” Lucifer replied, watching a tear slide slowly down Nell’s cheek before he turned away. “I like to keep you guessing.”

* * *

On his throne Below, he waited. Waited and watched for any sign of her.

When he finally got an opportunity to visit Earth again, he discovered that it had been decades. He walked the streets of New Orleans, marvelling at the new architecture, the changed fashions. He grinned when he saw Bartleby’s dressmaking shop, which had been converted into a grocer’s, where a lazy cat slept in the bin of bananas on the sidewalk.

He grinned because Nell’s debt was paid in full, and he would never see her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Mandatory listening: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FUN0U80hELo>.
> 
> Supplementary listening: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aaYSSQelQ1g>.


End file.
